


Light Up the Sky

by take_ninetynine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Universe, Fourth of July, Gen, Kid Dean, Kid Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6994759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/take_ninetynine/pseuds/take_ninetynine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thanksgiving, New Years, Easter… most of the time holidays passed the Winchesters by without fanfare. Even on Christmas they hardly did much of anything other than exchange inexpensive gifts and drink, and they could drink any day of the year. But there was something about Independence Day, the fourth of July, that always had a draw for the Winchester boys. Dean figured it was the fireworks; Sam figured it was the idea of independence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light Up the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SPN Writing Challenge for April 2016. Prompt: "The sun's almost down, won't be long now."

Thanksgiving, New Years, Easter... most of the time holidays passed the Winchesters by without fanfare. Even on Christmas they hardly did much of anything other than exchange inexpensive gifts and drink, and they could drink any day of the year. But there was something about Independence Day, the fourth of July, that always had a draw for the Winchester boys. Dean figured it was the fireworks; Sam figured it was the idea of independence.

There had been a bit of a fight as they arrived in Wherever They Were, Montana—not that arguing was anything new for Sam and John. Sam had been doing lots of research on this particular creature, though he couldn’t quite pronounce the name; John interrupted his recitation of its attack style by insisting that Sam stay at the motel for this one.

Sam stared in surprise for a moment. “Why?” he asked. “I’ve been helping on hunts for almost four years, Dad! I don’t get in the way... and I’m getting better at shooting a gun,” he added.

“Didn’t that book tell you how dangerous these are?” John answered gruffly. “Don’t argue with me on this. It’s not a safe place for you to be.”  


“When have hunts ever been ‘safe’?” The retort came out a little louder than he meant to. “You aren’t making Dean stay back!” Dean looked suddenly awkward at being brought into the argument, as though he’d been unable to hear them until the mention of his name.  


“I thought you didn’t wanna hunt anyway, Sammy,” John replied, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

Sam knitted his eyebrows angrily at this, but his response was a stammer. “I-I don’t—”  


Finally John snapped and yelled, “Then why does it matter so much? Just do what I’m telling you, Sam!”

Sam hadn’t been able to think of a reply fast enough for that, and just like that he was sitting in another hard chair in the corner of another cookie-cutter room. John unceremoniously stomped out to the Impala with barely so much as a “Keep the door locked.”

Dean however paused to give Sam a sad, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it too much, Sammy,” he said, kneeling beside his brother. “You know he’ll feel bad the whole drive out for yelling at you.” Sam didn’t answer him; Dean ignored the sound of the Impala starting outside and tried a different approach. “We’ll probably be back before Thursday night, want me to get him to take us to a fireworks show like last year?” In response, Sam picked up the remote from the table and pointedly switched on the television, though his gaze was still directed at his knees. John impatiently honked the horn; Dean sighed and followed him outside, leaving Sam alone.

For three days Sam stayed in that little room, feeling more and more stir crazy with each passing second. Throughout that first day he repeatedly scoured all of the books in his duffel bag, exhausting any information about the particular creature and anything that looked even somewhat related. He texted Dean whatever he found that looked particularly useful, until he worried that the constant alerts might distract Dean and get him hurt. The television played quietly in the background, forgotten.

For the second day he practiced drawing sigils and symbols in his notebook until he ran out of pages. Traps, summonings, detailed designs created for all sorts of supernatural things. Then he shredded up the pages and put the pieces in the tiny garbage can, so they wouldn’t end up in the wrong place somewhere where an unassuming graffiti artist or something might attempt to replicate them. Sam finally turned off the television after it played the same detergent commercial for the sixth time in an hour.

During the third day he checked his phone almost obsessively for any news that they were on their way back. Whether his dad felt bad for yelling at him or not, Sam felt bad for arguing. What if that was the last thing he ever said to them? It wasn’t that he really _wanted_  to hunt, but he felt still safer _with_ them than alone in the motel room. It was the not knowing that bothered him the most. If they died, how would he ever find out? How long should he wait before assuming they weren’t coming back? What was he supposed to do if they didn’t?

But before that third day ended there was that telltale roar of an engine outside, the familiar creak of the doors as they got out of the car, the signature knock to alert Sam that yes, it was John and Dean on the other side. It wasn’t even dark yet, he realized. Sam opened the door almost too quickly, needing to see them in one piece. There was little more than cuts and scrapes on their faces and hands, surprising Sam. For all the talk of how dangerous this hunt was going to be, he was anticipating at least some blood or a splint maybe.

“Expecting someone else, Sammy?” John joked as they strode inside, though his smile faded once he saw the expression of relief on Sam’s face. Dean gave Sam a one-armed hug and ruffled his hair: “Told you we’d be back today.” John said something about sleeping off the hunt, and Dean asked if they could take the Impala up to a park they’d passed on the way into town. “Get Sam here some fresh air,” Dean reasoned. With a nonchalant warning not to get pulled over for speeding again, John tossed him the keys, and Dean was tugging Sam out of the room.

“Where are we actually going?” Sam asked as soon as they were in the car. There weren’t any parks around here; there was barely enough of a town to have a motel. Dean just smirked and drove to a Gas-n-Sip, parking rather than pulling up to a pump. He brandished a credit card with the name John McIntyre—their dad’s alias of the month—and a fake driver’s license that gave Dean Pierce’s age as nineteen. “Pick out as many fireworks as we can carry,” Dean said with a grin, and Sam felt himself break into an excited grin too.  


The sun had started to head for the horizon as they drove down the country road, a box _filled_  with fireworks in the trunk. By the time they reached an empty field on the edge of a tree line, the sky was glowing red with a gorgeous sunset. Dean pulled the car off the road into the grass, driving far enough that they wouldn’t be immediately visible to passing motorists. He cut the engine and they sat in silence for a moment, just watching the beauty of nature before them, until Sam finally asked, “What made you decide to bring me out here for this?”

Dean chuckled as though the answer was obvious. “Cuz if I got busted for speeding I could say I was rushing you to the hospital, on account of your early-onset Research Obsession. You really oughta get that checked out, Sam.”

“Dean,” Sam pressed, and Dean relented.

“All right, all right. Wanted to get you out of that shoebox of a room,” he admitted. “There aren’t any displays going on in town, so... figured we’d make our own.” His eyes were practically sparkling with excitement.

The excitement was mirrored on Sam’s own face. “Dad’s gonna be pissed when he sees how much we spent on fireworks,” he replied, though it was almost funny rather than threatening.  


“Eh, it’s not his money...” Dean said with a wave of his hand. Glancing out through the windshield, he added, “The sun’s almost down, won’t be long now.”  


Sam eagerly watched the sun set until it had completely disappeared. As soon as the sky went dark, he slipped out of the Impala and grabbed the box from the trunk. “Come on, let’s go!” he said as he headed out into the empty field; Dean laughed a little at his enthusiasm as he followed.

Setting the box on the ground about two hundred feet from the car, Sam withdrew the items he was most excited about: two roman candles. He was almost surprised the gas station even sold them. “Got your lighter?” he asked as he handed one to Dean. Dean withdrew the small device that had been used for little more than torching corpses and thumbed the wheel, starting a small, perfect flame. Sam lit the fuse on his candle before Dean did the same, and they pointed the little white tubes towards the sky in anticipation.  


Shell after shell exploded upwards out of the roman candles, dancing red and green against the black sky. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he smiled so wide; the disappointment of the last few days felt almost forgotten. When the candles ran out, Sam looked to his brother and saw him smiling just as brightly. “Dad would never let us do anything like this,” Sam said softly. “Thanks, Dean. This is great.” He wrapped his arms tightly around his brother in a warm hug; Dean clapped him on the back and answered, “No problem, Sammy.”

Before anyone could come investigate, they lit the rest of the box all at once; Sam ran out of the blast zone with a call of “Fire in the hole!” Their backyard display was better than any they might’ve seen elsewhere, the lights sparkling off the smoke and turning the sky into a myriad of colors. Sam cheered as they exploded, eyes and smile wide as he took it all in. Dean grinned as he watched his little brother running around under the embers. Let John be pissed about the fireworks, he figured. It was Independence Day.


End file.
